“Big things have small beginnings”

Midnight Quatermass 13: Private dicks, writing and a sci-fi story about nothing

It’s Wednesday again. Let’s go.

I tell people that I always wanted to be a writer and that’s true. But I also wanted to be a private detective. And a pretty specific type of private detective at that. I wanted to be Jim Rockford. Back in the late 70s early 80s The Rockford Files was the kind of thing you could find on the TV in the middle of the day seemingly all the time and while I didn’t see every episode religiously it was one of those shows that as a kid you found impossible to turn off. James Garner has never not been cool and the idea of living on the beach in a mobile home was so appealing that even Martin Riggs did the same thing in LETHAL WEAPON a few years later.

I think from an early age I knew I wasn’t wired for 9 to 5. None of my heroes did a 9 to 5 and the shambolic, often broke, sunny lifestyle of a Californian gumshoe appealed a lot more than the lives of the real people I knew who had real jobs in the very real north of England. The only problem I could see with being a private eye was a) you seemed to get punched a lot and b) the nearest beach was Blackpool which had considerably fewer fashion models in trouble with the mob than Malibu.

So over the years the vocation morphed slightly and by the time I became a freelance writer it felt like I was close to living the dream. The money wasn’t great, but I didn’t have a boss either and I could wander into a bar in the middle of the day and drink shots. 25 years later and the kids and day drinking don’t mix, but the money is better and now I own every episode of The Rockford Files. Not too shabby.

Writers on TV growing up was more of a mixed bag. I wasn’t exposed to Kolchak: The Night Stalker until I was much older, but I do have fond memories of a TV movie called THE NORLISS TAPES (1973). The main draw was Roy Thinnes from The Invaders (one of my all time favourite TV shows) as a reporter who disappears while digging into supernatural cases, but leaves a whole pile of cases behind on cassette that didn’t quite spawn a TV series. The other big one was probably David Soul’s Ben Mears in SALEM’S LOT (1979) which scared the hell out of me, but importantly also showed that chicks really dig writers.

I actually got to pitch a soft reboot of NORLISS for a studio in LA and worked up a bible and first season breakdown for something that would have played more like the South Korean show Signal (or 2000’s FREQUENCY) with Norliss lost in the 70s while a modern day detective helped him solve ongoing supernatural weirdness. We got pretty far with it, but it wasn’t to be. Do check out the original though if you can find it.

Between now and the next newsletter I’ll be tidying up my online presence which means cutting loose a few things and dusting off a few others. While I’m still not happy with the jumbled reasoning behind Midnight Quatermass it continues to evolve and I do really enjoy writing it. Thanks for being a part of whatever this is becoming and special thanks to the new folk who joined recently.

I don’t really plug this thing so it’s always nice when the readership goes up a little. There’s so much stuff out there so I do really appreciate having you all on board for my nonsense and off-the-cuff stories.

Speaking of which…

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A quick heads up: If you’re not a fan of Seinfeld or have never seen Ridley Scott’s beautiful, but ridiculous, PROMETHEUS (2012) then the following may not make a lick of sense. It was inspired by a few lines on Threads earlier this week which I’ll add as a postscript and I just had to get it out of my head and into yours.

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THE DELETED SCENE

George is nervously waiting for Jerry at Deep Space Departures. Jerry arrives late and apologises. George waves it off. His news is bigger.

‘So we have a slight problem with the ship.’

‘How slight?’

‘It exploded.’

‘The ship exploded?’

‘It made this tremendous rattling noise so I got out to take a look and BLAM!’

‘BLAM?’

‘Kablooey.’

‘So we have no ship?’

‘We have no ship.’

‘You know if those guys catch up with us they’re going to do terrible things to us.’

‘I know. You think I don’t know? Believe me… I know.’

‘The whole point of buying the ship was to get the hell out of here for a few months until things settle down. So what do we do now?’

‘I’m thinking! I’m thinking!’

Jerry looks over and sees a tall blonde woman in a sharp uniform holding a digital sign that reads ‘Millburn and Fifield’.

‘I’ll tell you one thing, that lady over there is going to be waiting a long time. Millburn and Fifield aren’t showing up.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They got drunk on the shuttle up here and caused a ruckus.’

‘A ruckus?’

‘They got arrested. No luxury voyage for them.’

‘How do you know they were going on a luxury voyage.’

‘Her uniform.’

‘What about it.’

‘I recognise the company. Friend of mine did a corporate gig for them. Big bucks and they got paid for all the time they were in hyper-sleep.’

‘They got paid to sleep?’

‘Those big ships go out for five years minimum. Most of that you’re in stasis.’

George shakes his head at the idea.

‘We should take their place.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You said they’re not showing up. You said they’re arrested.’

‘They’re definitely arrested.’

‘She’s just standing there, Jerry.’

‘How would we do it?’

‘We just go over and say we’re Millburn and Fifield.’

‘What if she knows Millburn and Fifield?’

‘She doesn’t know Millburn and Fifield. If she knew Millburn and Fifield she wouldn’t have a sign.’

‘What if we get caught?’

‘What’s gonna happen? They can’t kill us!’

They walk forwards as a huge spacecraft flies overhead. Gigantic yellow lettering shows that its The Icarus. Jerry shakes his head.

‘Have you ever noticed that they always name these ships after mythological creatures that met the worst end imaginable? Why would you do that? They should be naming these things after people that got a happy ending. The SS Taylor Swift maybe. Not some schmuck who spent eternity pushing a rock up a hill or getting his liver eaten.’

George stops. Suddenly nervous.

‘Why you gotta bring that up? You said luxury voyage! You didn’t say anything about liver!’

‘Sure. Calm down. It’s a five year pleasure cruise. And you’ll sleep for four!’

George is reassured.

‘You know what I’d pay for a single night’s sleep? And these guys will pay us to nap. It’s the dream, Jerry. The dream!’

Jerry grabs his arm.

‘Wait. So who are we?’

‘I’m Millburn.’

‘And what does Millburn do?’

George has a think and then grins.

‘I’m a biologist!’

‘A biologist?’

‘All my life I wanted to be a biologist. Or an architect.’

‘Not a lot of call for architects in deep space.’

‘That, my friend, is why I chose biology.’

‘Is there a lot of call for a biologist in deep space?’

‘Who cares? Maybe they’re taking monkeys.’

‘Monkeys?’

‘Or mice.’

‘What do you know about mice or monkeys?’

‘What’s there to know? One eats cheese and the other likes bananas.’

‘So I’m Fifield.’

‘Sure.’

‘Okay. And what do I do?’

‘You’re a cartographer.’

‘A cartographer?’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘A map guy? What do I know about maps?’

‘Jerry, its 2091. You don’t need to know anything about maps. It’s all computers and apps. You press a few buttons.’

‘Which buttons?’

‘It doesn’t matter. They have these balls now that do all the mapping for you.’

‘Balls?’

‘Balls.’

‘Okay, I’m convinced. Let’s do this.’

They walk a little closer to the woman with the sign.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this, Jerry. Should we do it?’

‘Let’s do it.’

‘What if something goes wrong?’

‘What could possibly go wrong? It’s Weyland Industries. If you can’t trust Peter Weyland who can you trust?’

They walk up to the woman, smiling. George points to her sign.

‘Hi. That’s us.’

‘Which one is Millburn?’

‘Millburn. That’s me. I’m Millburn.’

Jerry leans in with a smile.

‘And that would make me Fifield.’

‘Fine. I’m Vickers. Follow me.’

They follow her to a hangar where a tall man smoking a cigar is carrying a Christmas Tree up a ramp.

‘This is Captain Janek. Captain, this is Millburn and Fifield.

The captain shakes their hands as they all walk up the ramp together.

‘Glad to have you on board, fellers. Welcome to The Prometheus.’

Jerry and George exchange a look.

‘Ah, The Prometheus, of course. Named after the guy who defied the gods and was horrifically punished for it. Wonderful. Just wonderful!’

George pulls Jerry back behind them out of earshot.

‘Hey, do you think they’ll have one of those androids on board? I always wanted to meet one of those androids.’

‘Sure. They got the big bucks.’

‘Do you think it might be a woman android?’

‘What’s the difference? It’s a machine!’

‘You know the shape my self-esteem is in, Jerry. I don’t think I could take being rejected by a machine.’

‘Just stay away from the machines, George. I think that’s good advice for both you and the android.’

Vickers stops as a tall man steps out of the hold to help Janek with the Christmas tree.

‘This is Millburn and Fifield. This is the ship’s synthetic: Kramer.’

‘Giddyupp!’, says Kramer and slips and falls into the Christmas tree before tumbling with it back down the ramp.

Cue the bass: BIPPITY BOP BOP!

With apologies to Ridley Scott and Seinfeld.

And the origin:

Less lazy next week, I promise. Until then stay safe. Over and out.